Life Lines And Stray Bullets
by Into-The-Fire5
Summary: Perhaps it had been Michonne's worst decision leaving Alexandria that night. Preparing to retaliate against the Saviours, she didn't count on their situation changing as much as it had, when an unexpected state of affairs has Negan getting under her skin. {Sexual Content} Season 7
1. Welcome To Where You're Goin'

»»—- —-««

Blank stare. Disrepair. There's a big black hole

Gonna eat me up someday

Someday fades away. Like a memory

Or a place that you'd rather be

Some place lost in space

Itch in my head, that's telling me somewhere

Somewhere, out there anywhere

I don't care, get me out of here

»»—- —-««

.

**Chapter 1: Welcome To Where You're Goin'**

.

Flashes of red and piercing screams, hands dug into flesh with a force unforgiving, masticating and tearing insides. The last thing she saw was the swarm of dead enclosing them in waves of ravenous growls over thrashing bodies as they came in insurmountable numbers. Panicked shots rang out at their last desperate attempts to spare their grisly fate, while instinct kicked in and adrenaline slid into her veins as Michonne began carving her way through.

Listening to what was left of her escorts being devoured, she found herself grimacing. She only wished she could've put them out of their misery. _I'm sorry.. _

Eyes darting for an escape, forced to retreat until her feet were blistering raw, she sprinted out of the overhang and coverage of the woods towards a large, metallic structure that appeared to be a warehouse with the horde trailing right on her heel. Light burst through the collapsed ceiling and shattered window panes, highlighting various stages of mould surfaced on each wall and thick layers of dust.

At closer look outside, an emergency staircase had collapsed, its remnants rusted and unstable, leaving Michonne to use the dumpsters to scale the side of the building and climb through an empty window onto the second floor while the undead began piling inside below her. Giving herself limited time, she began lugging down a long, wide corridor, hearing the haunting travel of moans and groans coming closer. She thought of heading for the roof, but her only route was too perilous. The slightest movement of her added weight, and she was dead.

With no choice but to divert back into the loading bays, Michonne spots a security grill door and rolls it closed in haste to lock herself inside! A second to breathe, she tries the radio that was given to her. She tries again. Nothing but static.

"Dammit!.." Michonne cussed, gripping the walkie in a vice grip.

Trapped in the small darkened space, the onslaught found its prey as clambering hands and outstretched arms reach through the gaps and try forcing themselves in, enough to strip flesh from bone. Every rattle of the grill led anxiety creeping up her spine, but fiercely raising her katana, she thrust and swiped her blade, spurting sickly substance as bodies crumpled lifelessly at her feet.

Panting heavily, the exhaustion caught up along with a hit of nausea as Michonne steps back, peering down at her merlot-stained blade with disgust and protruding belly. Sadness lodged itself in her throat as she glided a gentle hand over her formed bump_._ She had the strength and stubbornness to keep going, she was _not_ dying out here like this, isolated and alone… not again... as the samurai raised her weapon once more.

.

* * *

.

**Four Months Earlier **

Alexandria's far-off future of a stabler life had suddenly become a commodity she feared wasn't within reach anymore. What she sought was an empty shell.

"Well. My, my..."

Damp earth soiled her knees, foreboding darkness surrounded and swallowed her group as the cold, bitterness of the air gnawed at her skin. Michonne breathed steadily, sturdy as steel on the outside, but inside the inescapable dread and panic of the situation lurched to her stomach. Glare from the truck's headlights focused on every single one of Rick's people like a spotlight, whilst their captor paced back and forth leisurely, _examining_. When his attention turned to address her next, she straightened instinctively, where their eyes met and clamped each other firmly. This man and his subordinates had disturbed their peace like a heavy stone tossed into calm, soothing waters. What felt like hours of nothing, the first sound came in the form of a deep southern voice.

"Now there's a whole lot of things I'd like to do to you.. and killing ya is at the absolute fucking bottom of that list." Negan continued with a sigh. "Still on it."

With a crunch of gravel beneath his boots, he said his peace and moved on - where things inevitably took a turn for the worse. The overbearing sight of her friends falling victim to each swing, laying limp in the dirt as though they had barely been alive. In a state of shock, Rick and the others grew silent as they trembled and wept. Like a house of glass, shattered shards fell from their eyes, forced to accept a new reality.

"_You bunch of pussies… I'm just getting started."_

...

Michonne cringed at the early hour and mentally shook the disturbed memory from her mind. There had been much truth to those words. Adjusted on the bed, she squinted at the sight of uncovered skin cast in waning moonlight beside her, admiring the curved build of his back. She traced along his spine with sunken eyes and leaned close to plant a soft, lingering kiss to Rick's shoulder that radiated welcoming warmth as she smiled lovingly. Carefully detangling from the covers, she rose from the bed with a creak and found her clothes. Michonne glanced back again as she fixed herself, taking in his peaceful expression while attempting to not disturb his slumber. He deserved an unbroken night. It killed her to watch how much Rick was struggling. How all of them were. Every day she would feel him fade that much more away.

As though another nightly escapade, she grabbed her displayed katana before slipping out of the bedroom without another thought. Michonne eased onto the landing, passed Carl and Judith's bedroom and descended the stairs with feathered footsteps through the darkened house.

The moment she entered the kitchen, from behind, a jaded voice called out in a hushed whisper.

"Michonne?..."

She pivoted on her heel, and swallowed the knot in her throat as she found the eldest Grimes peering down at her. Although it was too dark to see his face. "Carl, go back to sleep for me, okay?"

"Are you sneaking out again?" He inquired instead as he took a measured step closer.

Michonne paused and tilted her head in question.

"Look. I know you go outside.. and I know you don't want anyone to know." He shuffled his feet, almost coyly. "I get it. Out there, how things used to be, it made me feel better too..."

It wasn't surprising to find him so attuned to her state. "Yeah." It was half-truth. Meanwhile, motherly instinct allowed her to mull over apprehensively how long Carl had been roaming outside as well. But she caught herself, reminded that he wasn't a child anymore. He was smart, cautious and wouldn't have strayed too far. This state of affairs was suffocating everyone.

Carl wavered on the spot. "Can I go with you?" He asked, but already anticipated her answer.

"Not tonight. You need your rest more than I do."

Picking up on the need to keep the exchange brief, he reluctantly nodded. "Then. Your secret's safe with me." He poked lightly with familiar words.

"So's yours." She fired back a wayward smirk, her own slip of playfulness. Sometimes a little humour went a long way.

"Just, be careful.. This place can't lose you too. We can't.."

Offering a small parting smile, Michonne nodded as Carl turned to tread lightly back to his room. After he was long out of sight, her smile faded as she exhaled deeply, heavy on the sentiment. Michonne loathed lying to him more than anything, and discovered in the act, there was an added sense of urgency. She needn't waste anymore time.

Heedful of the watchtower, Michonne whipped through the silent streets and covered behind houses in shadow until she reached the steel walls. Chancing a glance around her, she hoisted herself up and over, landing onto the grassy mound below with a grunt before subsequently escaping into the grove. There she stumbled upon a tree with boundless roots strapping the ground like limbs gripping for life and pulled out a hunting rifle, along with a brown, petite bag from within its twisted bough. Relieved to find it all there and intact, Michonne slung the firearm over her shoulder with sword trained in hand and walked into the sombre night, leaving Alexandria behind.

Alone and lost to her thoughts out in the elements, cutting down the occasional walker in her wake, Michonne evoked how she'd relayed messages with her own creative flair in the beginning, warning the Saviours to stay away. But of course to no avail. When the indignation and stress proved too much to bare, she trained, sometimes for days - on the rare occasion with Sasha, who had an unmistakably, overhasty desire for vengeance. She had been gradually slipping off the deep end again, just like before after losing Bob and her brother. She certainly couldn't blame her. And now, Michonne felt somewhat awful intervening, by taking the opportunity away from her, knowing she would've especially undertook the same if it had been Rick. In a way, she still was. Negan may not have killed Rick so brutally with glee coating his face, but he had broken him, beyond what she'd seen before. As well as the others. Besides, something about the way Sasha spoke, informed her that she hadn't intended to make it out alive in her version of events. The thought alone further persuaded her to carry out the deed. Perhaps it was selfish, but they'd lost too much and too many.

The light twitter of birdsong and hooting calls was music to her ears as she ambled along the railroad tracks, as though being transported back in time, a time before the Saviors.. and even Alexandria. That playful round with Carl graced a smile she desperately needed to her face. At that precious moment, the three of them felt like a _real_ family and despite their grim situation, Michonne held hope that they were going to make it and.. she certainly had _not_ craved Big Cat bars since then, like some sugar junkie either.

Melting at the memory, the first speck of light finally peeked through heavy clouds, as she turned off to shortcut through a sprawling grassy field.

She hoped to keep that spirit. They would come back from this. She'd be damned if she was broken too.

The slam of a door up ahead startled her! Five or more figures suddenly appeared in her peripheral vision beside a large, dingy pickup parked on the side of the road. How they were equipped, she could only assume they belonged to the Sanctuary.

"Shit!" Michonne hissed quietly, dropped into the grass and froze.

From the flick of a glance she'd gotten, they were huddled, seemingly conversing with each other. It was barely daybreak. _What could they be doing, far out here? _She laid down her rifle, gripped the tsuka of her blade tightly and waited.

Laid flat on her front, the overgrowth danced in gentle breeze that swept through her locks, obstructing her vision. _She was a sitting duck!_

Seconds passed. A minute.

In unsettling silence, the samurai waited with bated breath. All she could hear was the thumping of her own heart. Until stirring sounds came stepping out into the clearing near her right. The rustling grew louder and edged closer, irregular footsteps became heavier… It didn't sound as though it spotted her but she dared not move to alert her position as it stalked her way. Creeping closer. Frantically battling with what to do, she braced herself like a snake in the grass, ready to strike -

But before Michonne could act, a booming shot rang out with a violent spray of blood above her as the lone walker collapsed with a _thud_. Matter seeped out through its gaping skull as lifeless eyes as black as coal stared back at her. A commotion of yelling from up ahead tore her attention away but she couldn't make anything of it, followed by an aggressive slam and rev of a motor. Hearing tires burn against the asphalt as they departed and grew distant, Michonne breathed a sigh of relief, though she stayed put in her spot. She was grateful they felt the need to waste a bullet.

.

* * *

.

Quelling her hammering chest, Michonne carefully loaded her rifle and brought up the scope. The encounter with the group assured she was headed the right direction, as she spotted the array of tracks left behind that brought her right to the gates. She'd climbed the farthest tree and situated amongst dense leaves as she hid behind its broad trunk, viewing the first look at Negan's domain up close. Zoomed in on stirring activity inside, she searched. Above and below. It was as though time froze. With slow and controlled breaths, Michonne awaited a sign. A flash of leather, a twirl of a bat or the sound of his penetrating voice that always travelled.. when a sudden resounding _click_ came from below.

Snapping her attention, her eyes flicked for the source and revealed a group stood eerily still at the root of the tree, various firearms aimed up in her direction.

In the centre appeared a rugged, dark haired man with a thick mustache above his lips and hands situated in his pockets. His dark, sinister orbs sized her up as she scanned between their faces. Michonne recognised him as someone vaguely familiar from that night and tried to put a name to his face. She knew what this mission entailed, she knew the risks. Perhaps she'd been spotted earlier and people were alerted, perhaps she was unsuspectingly lured. She'd never know.

Cautiously reaching for her sword on instinct, the man - Simon, she barely recalled - tilted his head and warned tonelessly. "I wouldn't make a twitch, 'less you wanna lose your head."

The threat was enough to rethink her proceeding actions, reminded of the people she was dealt with.

"Easy does it. Why don't you come join us on the ground here and get those hands up."

No telling what would happen if she retaliated now, she obeyed rigidly. Then again, she could fight. Surveying the group, she knew she had her chances, having tackled a similar ambush like this before, but something in her gut told her it was the wrong move. Michonne landed on her feet the rest of the way, slowly lowered her katana to the ground and raised both hands above her head in surrender.

"Better turn around." Simon ordered with the same stoic expression, casually placing a hand on his belt holster.

One of the armed men kicked the sword aside, sending it careening as she reluctantly complied. Within an instant, hands shot out and patted down her form thoroughly. Michonne scowled and flinched when one Saviour had been weasley in being _thorough_ with rough, wandering hands that she recoiled from her captors as soon as they were deemed satisfied. Retrieving a single pocket knife, their leader continued to stare suspiciously.

"You made the right call. We'll take your weapons, probably won't be needing 'em where you're going - "

"Take me to Negan." Michonne raised brusquely.

A knowing silence rang out before his eyes widened. "I'd take another, long gander at where you are, before making those demands. I know you're eager to finish what you were hoping to, but uh.. unfortunately there's a problem with that."

The man's angle rubbed her the wrong way and she knew he could read it on her twisted face. She hadn't come all the way out here, to be least of all patronised.

"Only reason we're talking is 'cause we know who the hell you are. Stunt like this though, your _cohorts_ might not be in much of a cohorting state real soon, in this whole base of operation."

Twitching a sneer, she refused to lose a shred of her nerve. "Not for as long as you think."

"Takes more than a few guns to shake you up, huh? Jesus! Guys like me rally around dealing with whiners and beggars that ain't got null for nerve. No offence to Gregory over there. And now you're gonna get what you want! But just, incidentally…" Simon began lively, whilst the others retrieved her belongings and inched her towards the premises. "Whether you clip the big man or not, there's always gonna be somebody else, that brings all of everythin' back."

Michonne frowned. Something she noticed immediately was the way Negan's second man spoke, double-edged and schemeful. There was just something wily in his voice. Her days of occupation as a lawyer were long past, but the sharp, analytical mind probing deep for answers was something she failed to switch off sometimes. Michonne felt it had gotten her this far. Deciding to tread warily around him, thoughts scattered as the barrel of a gun thrust into her back and blinked her back into awareness. It finally dawned that it was happening. She was being brought further into enemy territory.

"Open her on up!" Simon yelled as he smacked the solid gate.

Large doors scraped open, where she was escorted in by Simon and his group, immediately met with an intimidating, industrial structure, surrounded by sturdy link fences and wrapped barbed wire. What diverted her attention was the writhing undead impaled and displayed at the entrance like something straight out of historical past. The sight sent a flutter of uneasiness as she began receiving a clearer image of who the communities were up against. Subconsciously placing the faces of her friends on the walkers, she averted her eyes in horror. How many other communities had been trounced?

Through the winding corridors, with unwanted awareness along with kleaking chatter, Michonne hadn't known what to expect inside the Sanctuary, but it certainly reflected a lot of a rundown factory. Dull, grey, restricted. A dire opposite to Alexandria in every possible way. The boot fit. She was eventually transported lower to a block where the light didn't touch and glared upon every person in passing. It didn't make much shred of difference, the entire compound felt like a prison and she'd barely set foot inside. Without her gun, now without her sword, she was completely vulnerable as the door pulled open to her selected cell.

Dark and alone, passing time was the hardest, hemmed in by grimey walls. She daydreamed about being perched upon the porch of her sheltered home, absorbing the morning sun while sharpening her sword. Rick's embrace from behind comforting and consoling with Judith cooing happily in his arms.. She soon found herself reverting back into an old routine. Push ups, sit ups, crunches and repeat, giving her a soft glow as audible footsteps echoed in the cramped space and halted right on the other side of the solid door. As it screeched open, she otherwise ignored her newfound audience that stood in the threshold and continued the workout, grunting lightly.

Michonne felt the leering gaze before he breathed a word.

"What do we got here? ~"

The samurai refused to look at him as he sauntered in, dragging Lucille settled comfortably in his grip along the hard floor as he did. Michonne tensed. In the corner of her eye stood a burly man pointing a gun but Negan's striding footsteps was all she focused on within the cell as the impish man stood in front of her, desiring a view up close.

He cast over her like a shadow.

"Look at this. Now this _sure_ is somethin'." He gestured with the bat. "Points for that giant nutsack on you, I'll tell you that, showin' up here. And I am sorry for my men humbling the hell out of you like that. I did not like that shit. You'd think they ain't seen a chick 'round here before..." Negan snorted, before he turned his head to regard her confiscated rifle beyond the door, as if toyingly. "This here meant for me? Jesus. You were serious, weren't you?"

Biting her tongue, Michonne remained silent but finally lifted her heavy head to meet his half-lidded stare. The same energy she felt upon their first meeting hissed through her body as his chest deflated to give off a husky sigh.

Negan drew closer and crouched down to her level, propping Lucile at his side as the former amusement left his face. "Rick's idea to set this up?"

"_No_." Michonne at last cut in firmly, determined not to let anyone but herself be held responsible. "Rick had nothing to do with this."

Studying her face intently, his umber eyes were piercing, a blanket over something darker hidden beneath, before he rose to stand. With a signal of his fingers, he compelled her to follow, apparently satisfied with her answer. Michonne's brow bunched in a frown.

"We ain't talking here." He insisted.

Looking at her expectantly, he stepped aside. She was reluctant but straightened up slowly, adopting a cautious expression leaving the darkened cell to where they intended.

Caught off guard, Michonne's jaw rooted and peered observantly around Negan's luxuriously furnished loft as he strolled over to a lounge area. She spotted empty glasses on a coffee table, the cut-glass pattern fulgurating in the light. A sleigh bed of mocha hickory wood and crisp, gunmetal sheets filled most of the room that even included a small simple kitchen. Three tall and oddly pristine windows bestowed a beautiful view of the gleaming sun, framed by draping curtains. She could definitely agree it was his abode. His many possessions exuded a taste for trophies as animal heads hung high on the wall and various statuettes perched on a large shelf.

"Well, let's get down to brass nuts, huh?" Negan announced as he spun on his heel to face her. "I figure you'd be more persuaded to talk in here."

Michonne narrowed her burning stare and lifted her chin defiantly.

"Now, I get it. Bashed your dead friends' domes in, made our rounds, took back our guns, hell, got Rick all permanently bitch-faced - Goddamn, who wouldn't wanna stick me, right? 'Course you hate my guts enough to swing by with a gun on my front porch."

Negan's tongue darted out to lick his lips as he advanced closer with casual sway.

"Much as I respect _why… _something's gotta happen."

As he hovered in her personal space, he raised Lucille pointedly up to her cheek. _A test was it?_ _Plan of intimidation? _She mocked inwardly. Michonne didn't flinch as sudden snapshots of caved in flesh and mangled skin dangling off its end trapped in the recoiling wire, invaded her mind. What pulled her out was Negan's deep chuckle and hazel eyes boring straight into her own.

"Heyyy Simon, I _like_ this broad." He grinned with a haughty slur and nodded to the other man watching the scene, gloved fingertips tapped gingerly on his bat. "You another one of them hard cases, huh?" He addressed Michonne again.

"Want us to take her outside?" Simon cut in from behind.

"No… not yet."

Michonne stood grim faced, lapped in what uncertainty there was to her fate between the two men.

"You know, my guys scouting out the brake, the roads, they done found decomposing freaks all carved out, snapped up and arranged. Warnings. All signed to us. That was you, wasn't it?"

Her silence was enough as he chortled, impressed.

"Hot damn! And here you are. You've _really_ had your hands full. Does bearded bitchass _know_ you're here? We outta let him know, huh? It'd be remiss of us not to." He scoffed mildly, rolling his eyes. "Jesus Christ, am I talking to myself here? I know I'm saying all this shit out loud."

Michonne's words finally seeped through in retort. "This ends. All of it."

Negan arched a brow. "Leave us." He commanded his men promptly, transfixed on the audacious woman. It was like pulling teeth trying to get her to talk.

With just the two in the spacious room, the air seemed much heavier that it weighed on her lungs. Meanwhile her mind was screeching and whirling, like a buzzsaw.

To her disgust, Negan raked her form with crude interest, a dark presence keen to consume her as his throaty voice filled her ears. "What's your name?"

She delayed an answer. "Michonne."

He nodded as a deep noise rolled in his chest. "Know what's gonna happen, Michonne?"

Lips pressed into a thin line, they pulled back from her teeth. "I can think of a few things." She said resolutely.

"This is just a little hitch in the business. Everyone has 'em. And where there are hitches, I am on it. Management by example! So, lemme make this clear, you are dignified as shit. But, I warned Rick about banding everybody together, keeping 'em all in line and co-operating. We're gonna get back on course, make our do, but somebody's gotta die. One. Two.. maybe even stretch to three."

Her hands twitched as she blanched at the notion! A brief flicker of hot white panic melded with anger. "No! We are just trying to survive. All of us! And you have no right to game with people's lives."

"Frankly, I do!" Negan bounced back. "You all called the plays and got knee deep in shit you weren't prepared for. Now I'm busting my balls giving your people a way out. The only way they got."

Feeling like it was just to torment her, he twisted the subject and retrieved something behind him.

"See I never pegged you people as the type to kill poor bastards in their sleep by looking at ya.. but this.." Unsuspectingly, the man took out a familiar device and flipped open a jutted screen. It was the camcorder that was stolen from Alexandria! What flashed up was all of their arranged interviews. With Deanna. Her chest panged with sorrow.. and only festered when she'd spotted Glenn and Abraham. Negan swept through them until he landed on Rick's and her own. Rick's had been a mild warning and informed Deanna she should've proceeded with more caution. Then Michonne watched as her past self countered his words and referred to being ready to settle into a real community again. How they needed an out of being in the thick of the wilderness. She saw what it was doing to them. "Why this, paints a whole damn picture doesn't it? Looking mighty downcast there, doll and ol man bush seemed to think it was a mistake bringing you guys in, and _now_, why he's up and leading the place. What assholes did you have to kill, or not have to? I would be lying if I said I wasn't curious about how the hell y'all ended up there - "

Against her better judgement, she barked out. "_Stop_."

With an irritable sigh, he paused and snapped the screen back in place. "Listen, we all got our shit. I ain't a judge on the screwed up things you had to do to survive out there. I don't give a fuck." Negan shrugged indifferently.

Michonne huffed and brushed off his words. What was his damn point? Negan undoubtedly thought of himself as someone omniscient. _He could do a lot more thinking in his grave._

Nevertheless, he swept it aside, apparently fed up with arguing as he rubbed at his salty beard and pondered. "Screw it. Hey Simon!.." Negan suddenly called, continuing when he and his men re-entered the room to attention. "Keep on her like a hawk, would you? I'm gonna have me a little chit-chat. Wouldn't wanna give her any ideas."

Whistling a tune cheerfully with a twirl of Lucille, he flashed a sly, coquettish smile her way as he left the room in stride.

Wandering onto the iron landing, he overlooked the many walkers of previous victims guarding the entrance to the Sanctuary. There was plenty time to make room for fresh bodies before this was all over. Seeing how far this place had come swarmed him with pride. Curled forward against the railing, watching his men work, he pulled out a walkie and brought the speaker to his upturned lips, knowing exactly who would receive on the other side.

"Mornin', prick!" Negan greeted after a sharp crackle of static. "Now, I don't know if your eyes are going at your age, but you outta keep better tabs on the Mrs. Rolled on all up here on my doorstep like it was hunting season, but I got an itch in my nutsack telling me you might know something about that. You know what that means, right? I'll bet you do. And she's safe and sound like the upstanding guy I am. Think I'll keep an eye on her for you, 'til something checks out."

With a conceited smirk, he ended the one-sided conversation, picturing his pale, rattled face as he stowed the walkie back into his belt. He glanced over momentarily to catch one of his black trucks paving through the gates onto the road. With a hum, he headed back inside the building. _Ohh, he was gonna have some fun with this._

He all but burst back into the room with new vigour and immediately his glinted eyes searched for Michonne who stood with her muscular arms folded.

"Good news darlin'! Your fine ass belongs to this fine ass place for the foreseeable future. However long that'll be. Hey, fetch my man, Dwight, take her back to the cell block for now. Now, boy am I feeling _thirsty_." Negan laughed suggestively, giving Michonne another greedy once over. "Brand new day, dreads! Can't say the same for the poor bastards that'll take the punishment for this. Rules are rules."

Immersed in her own head as she watched him closely, Michonne smouldered at a daring thought. It was a shot in the dark but perhaps it would work out in her favour. It wasn't originally her plan to infiltrate, but if you wish to ruin, ruin from inside the system.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **What if Michonne decided to follow through with her assassination attempt? This is a long ongoing fic that I planned for a while. Song rec for the story is _Deep_ by _Nine Inch Nails_, for those who love a little mood music ~ Disclaimer. I don't own anything in this fic!


	2. Wrapped In Black

.

**Chapter 2: Wrapped In Black**

.

"You let her go?!" Rick swallowed the anguish wedged in his throat.

Stood in their lounge, Carl almost failed to look his dad in the eye as he shook his head, disturbed. He couldn't believe Michonne had gone there willingly! Providing an explanation, Carl had wanted to keep things surreptitious, until Negan ratted her out and in turn rattled his dad considerably. "I didn't know what she planned to do! If I'd even thought of it, I would've stopped her."

The situation flooded Rick's brain too quickly. Without another passing word, he barged outside into blinding daylight on stiff legs, where his bubbling urgency and panic stirred everyone's attention. He and a few selected others were supposed to set out for days on a scavenge run, for anything they could scrounge up for the Saviours. The next pickup was distressingly close. But he couldn't function right now. It would have to wait.

He swore the walls surrounding them, protecting them, felt closer all of a sudden, a lick of sweat building on his forehead. All the uncertainty pounded against his temple as Rick walked, oblivious to Daryl hustling over to his side with crossbow trained in hand.

"The hell's goin' on?" He asked perplexed, shifting his gaze to Carl approaching them.

"They got Michonne."

"Motherf - You telling me one of 'em got inside?!" Daryl gruffed, concern and anger reflected in his voice.

"No.. no. She - She went outside the walls last night, tracked 'em down. And now they got her." Rick's voice cracked as he shifted his weight between his legs and stationed hands on his hips.

Daryl regarded him carefully. "She okay?"

"I don't know. Negan said she's safe but I don't know if I believe that. She's not safe as long as she's there."

Cradling his head, breaths came out between heavy and desperate bursts, his world started spinning uncontrollably and voices were muffled and incoherent as he scanned around. Rick thought they'd discussed this, namely he'd talked her out of this idea and came to a mutual understanding. Only Michonne's beautifully stubborn nature for those she cared about, still fuelled her steely determination. God, it was happening all over again. How he had feared the worst when the Saviours intercepted the RV and left one of her lone dreadlocks behind as a personal message. He wouldn't lose her, he promised her that. And now..

"I'm going after her …" Rick mumbled as he marched hastily towards the barred gate. He had no clue and no lead where the Saviours were located but in the spur of the moment, it didn't matter. He would figure something out.

Daryl turned and gave chase with slapping footfalls against the tarmac. "Rick - "

"Dad." Carl called from behind and trailed after them both.

"You can't stop me -"

"Hey!" The redneck threw his arm out to stop him as it batted his lean chest and seized the man's shoulder. "No Rick! - "

Rick shoved him off in protest but he latched back on as they struggled. "You can't stop me!" He bellowed, his voice ringing around them. An unsettled audience had emerged from their homes or paused their activity to pay attention to them peripherally.

"You can't go charging in there Rick! It's why Glenn ain't here no more!..." Daryl growled, under the gun of sickening guilt as he dug his heels into the ground, against the determined wall that continued floundering in his grasp. "Letting 'em lay a hold on you, ain't gonna help nobody."

They both stood on the spot panting harshly in the middle of the street, Rick through bared teeth. He grew silent and stilled at the mention of the man that saved his life during the beginning.

"Look, man! We wanna get her back from that asshole, too! We will. They won't kill 'er."

Rick exhaled shakily, fixed on the leading road beyond the gates, at war with his buried, crumbling hope. "How do you know that? You've seen what he does. What he makes happen." He stressed in a significantly calmer tone. _What if they kept her alive but did the unthinkable to her?_

Daryl's exhausted eyes softened in sympathy. "I think he needs her." He stated resolutely. "Or feels he does."

The sheriff slowly trailed his distant eyes away to linger on the ground, swirling the thought in his head. It sounded plausible. Daryl didn't specify how, if only to spare his own sanity.

"We ain't letting her go, but folks 'round here need you. Go on the run. Keep busy. Right now, Michonne's over there with a roof over her head. That's somethin'. Alright?" Daryl pressed, giving a firm pat to his shoulder.

He relinquished his hold as Rick jerked a nod in understanding, ridden of the whimpering madman. His mind felt a little clearer, less disoriented and muddled to all hell.

"Negan's guys are comin' in a few days. Gotta deal with one shit at a time..."

Rick pried his troubled gaze away from the nervous faces of the crowd close by. He was right. And by that time when they arrived, Rick needed to see her. Honing in on Daryl who turned to head down the street, presumably preparing to set out on a hunt, he raised his voice again. "Daryl…"

He stalled and looked over his shoulder at the broken, former sheriff, a reflection of the man he'd encountered long ago.

"What happened to Glenn, it wasn't your fault."

Daryl disagreed, as his jaw locked. _Naw, it was his fault and he had to live with it now_... though he still couldn't look at Maggie. While he appreciated Rick and the others trying, he wasn't running from it. Nor was he about to burrow so far deep in a bottomless shithole of guilt when there were people to save right _now_. "Go on. We ain't ashes yet." He murmured with a parting nod as he trudged on heavy feet.

.

* * *

.

Two long days passed in a sinkhole of her own suffering.

Michonne sat leaning her weight against the wall, knees pressed to her chest as she focused on the dark, concerning stains just visibly emblazoned on the dusty floor. Her delivered scrapings were her only point of contact, but she barely had an appetite. Instead she tried reasoning with her commonsense and growing pessimism. Alexandria was tormented and at risk to begin with, now there was a price hung over all their heads. She smacked the back of her skull against the wall in frustration, facing her repercussions. If only she'd taken the damn shot. Now she'd become enmeshed in all of it.

A sting of envy and yearning to see everyone back home struck her chest. Feeling her confidence ever so slightly waning, perhaps it had been her worst decision leaving Alexandria that night. Her predicament fuelled an inkling of dread that Rick, Carl and even baby Judith could easily be ripped away while she clawed and screamed, and she could only imagine where Rick's mindset was right now.

Not only that, but Simon's claim before she arrived continued to roll around in her consciousness. Pestering words of somebody else taking over and retaliating, possibly even worse, if Negan was removed from the picture. It plagued doubts into her head. But there was absolutely no other way around it. It was hopeless and impossible to reason with him, no elbow room for negotiation when made abundantly clear of who Negan was. How he built a code of conduct. He took advantage. However, Michonne refused to play into his hands and grovel at his boots. It would be exactly what he wanted.

The silent isolation was starting to feel like a vice on her heart. The darkness was so absolute, she couldn't distinguish whether her eyes were open or sealed shut sometimes. Michonne sighed deeply. She swore to keep her iron grip on hope as long as it took to return home.

Barely registering the sound of someone approaching her cell as the metal door dragged open, the assault on her ears sent a shudder down her spine. Her pink-rimmed eyeballs ached from sleep deprivation as she raised her head to meet seared skin and matted blonde hair. She knew she was in for a rude awakening. His lanky body filled the doorframe and towered over her, taking in her state. For the time she'd spent imprisoned below, this man would offer occasional words whenever he was tasked to attend to her. Short, unconventional talks that left her feeling confused and downright vexed. Today was apparently one of them.

"Negan's asking for you."

"I've heard better things." She retorted with a bitter huff and clenched her gloved hand that was still caked in blood.

"This is just where it starts." Dwight continued solemnly, but with his usual stony expression. "You're lucky, though in your head it's not so lucky. He's taking a shine to you. Things could've been a whole lot worse, and they still can be if you make 'em."

_Lucky. What part of this was lucky? What part of this was fair!_

"You're right. It _can_ get a lot worse." She muttered coldly as she pushed past him into the corridor.

Another stinging reminder of where she was, Michonne lingered behind Dwight briskly as he led her through the Sanctuary walls. Clinging to her sense of time, she judged it was the peak of the day or early afternoon as the activity was considerably rampant. As opposed to when she'd first arrived, not a single person stood in one place. Everyone was constantly bustling, riddled with tasks and carrying the same exhaustion she saw frequently back home.

At last and to her disconsolate, Michonne was reacquainted with Negan's personal quarters where she was greeted with a particular scent she hadn't been aware of before. Something musk and masculine mingled with leather. At least it wasn't smothering. Eyes falling on the intractable man positioned at the window, she took an opportunity this time to really look. Clad in his signature leather jacket that was partly-zipped, exposing a chalk white shirt beneath and grey jeans that fitted snugly around his lean legs and reached the tip of his boots.

Negan's expression lit up as soon as he laid eyes on her, but cocked a brow when the light caught the fatigue on her elegant features. He manoeuvred himself to get a closer view. "Man, you okay there, sweetheart? You're lookin' a little peaky."

"Fine." She was certain she looked like hell had spat her out. He probably thrived seeing that. Michonne eyed the leather couch temptingly but stayed inert, hoping she wouldn't be staying long as she squared her shoulders. With only his arrogant voice to slice the silence, it left her irritable.

"Atta' boy, D." Negan praised. "I owe you a drink later. Now get outta here." He joked with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The door clicked shut behind her. Michonne's lips pressed into a thin line, taught as a whip, already prepared to condemn whatever proposition was tossed her way while Negan closed the distance, looking as though assembling the words.

"This your thing then, familiarizing with your prisoners?" She wrinkled her nose with disdain in wake of the question.

He snorted softly and steered closer. "As it happens, I'm willing to bet you can help me."

"Help _you_?" Disbelief clouded her voice and slowly raised her tired eyes to regard him agitatedly. With a curt nod, he continued.

"See, a group of my men found a depository someplace a few miles out and called it in. Somethin' got screwy clearing out the dead freaks. Big job. We're gonna take one of the trucks out there and the thing is, I want you coming with us."

"Why?" She inquired sternly with clear suspicion. The words rang. _What_ _possible gain would Negan receive from her presence? _Perhaps they would kill her on the spot.

"It'd be an example to Rick. Doing us a service like that." Negan replied tersely, unwilling to elaborate.

Channeling her conjecture, she wasn't at all surprised to discover he had informed Rick of her whereabouts, she just silently prayed he hadn't taken the bait.

Somehow taken aback by his callous advances, Michonne subconsciously reverted to a younger, more stubborn version of herself as she folded her arms and cocked a hip. She felt her patience waning within each passing second. "I'd prefer the cell."

"Now, I was hoping you wouldn't say that, 'cos you ain't exactly all for choice." He tut.

"So you're giving me an ultimatum?"

"Hell, no. I'm giving you a job." Negan's voice lightened, taking in the woman's stance. "At the end of it all, in spite of everything, you still work for me, dreads. And people like you ain't built to wither behind bars."

"After two days, you're really setting this up." She replayed what she said and hummed incredulously_. _"You know, stupid is as stupid does."

"Not a wink different from routine shit you've done in the past - "

"Bullshit!" Michonne snapped with a tilt of her head. The words flowed from her mouth easier than expected. "What are you after?"

Negan's lean, empowered form took long, heavy strides towards her with the first embers of anger she'd received so visibly since being confined. They were a sign that no good would come of their presence as he came within an inch of her, hot breath spilled against equally hot, ebony skin.

"Lemme lay this on you. That life you called yours back there; picket fences, grill outs, tending to wheat, whatever the fuck you guys did with your time, hell, maybe y'all could have had that. But that was all before you - amped to high shit - shot up a bunch of my people, a lot that had families too. Little too late, Rick learned he couldn't run with the big dogs. Reap what you goddamn sow. Your people ain't calling the shots no more."

"_Fuck_ you." Michonne growled through gritted teeth, a little caught off by her expletive, as her skin flushed.

"Fuck me?" It came out in mockery but his brow creased and eyes narrowed, leaning into her personal space in a seductive manner. "Could always arrange that - "

He seemed to ditch his former anger for a trade of riling her up with extensive pleasure, as a shit-eating grin crawled its way to his parted lips. They stood and waited for the other to make a fatal move. But Michonne's own emotions consumed her. Instinctive and quick, the samurai drew the back of her gloved hand and struck the taunting curve of his olive toned cheek with a resounding _smack_!

Negan staggered ever so slightly. A growl rolled through his throat as a mixture of astonishment and anger plastered his face. Dangerous eyes shadowed over, he chuckled provocatively and lightly rubbed the sore spot. _Alright, he maybe deserved that one. _

"Damn_. _Good thing I like 'em rough, darlin'! Shit.." He breathed while rotating his locked jaw.

Michonne schooled her features and batted away her violent impulses to regain control of the situation. However she took a moment to relish the swollen flesh and forming welts on his cheek. "You said before you were giving me options… but this is just a means to an end to get whatever you need out of Rick."

"You're goddamn right!" Negan chuckled and retrieved a crystal glass from a nearby cabinet. Oddly fixated, she watched as he poured himself a shot, the amber golden liquid swirling and sheening in the light. "Though I wasn't lying about giving you an out before. Since threatening to amputate his kid, reckon he'll take our agreement more seriously, especially without you. You wanna tear a guy down? Mess with his pussy. No offence, sweetheart." He took an indulgent swig.

"Meaning I'm insurance." Michonne huffed to herself, twisting her face in disgust.

"Then again, I always got another way that'll be good for both of us. Shit, it'll make Rick's balls shrivel up his ass, but for guarantee our shares will be lighter _and_ _maybe_ I don't gotta waste a few innocent people for the attempted fucking bullet in my head..."

At odds with herself, she would at least attempt to hear him out further as her eyes turned to slits. "What is it?"

"I'm glad you asked." Negan spoke smoothly, gulped the entirety of his drink and savoured the last traces on his lips.

From the way the man's pensive look melted into something sensual, roaming her from head to toe like a prized possession, Michonne already surmised she would curl at his answer.

.

* * *

.

Nature was always cruel. But it was the way life was always created, never to see itself as a cruel force. It just is. Like the pack of wild dogs that had once ambushed them, the spider entrapping the squirming fly in its interlocking web, the undead viciously hunting and seeking other victims. Predator and prey. It was impossible to know which was which, these days. Everything was turned upside down.

"So." He started slowly, trickled with intrigue. "How long you and Grimes been bumpin' uglies?"

Scowling, Michonne peered away from the world outside the window, broken from the reverie as she warred every urge to slap the daylight out of him again. Negan had grabbed another bottle and poured himself a generous serving while she had slumped onto the furniture pouring over his unethical proposal. If one could even call it that. Treated to _agonizing_ detail how beneficial it would be during her time here, Michonne's refusal came harsh and inbound with offence. She didn't give a damn about all that, she was more concerned about everyone else. How beneficial it would be to Alexandria, her people… if the Sanctuary's leader was honest to his word. But she was not as gullible as he believed. _Son of a bitch. Wife? Married? _The thought of maintaining intimate relations with Negan churned her stomach. _And what about Rick?_

"Not the time to ask?" Negan snorted with a tilt of his head, before he suddenly turned serious. "Ohh. Shit. He have trouble dipping his wick - "

"Stop. Talking." She steeled her resolve, despite feeling the blood boiling in her veins.

"Why? It's quiet as a goddamn empty hen house in here."

"_Good_. Maybe you'll tire of me and finally realize I hold no further value to you." Michonne gave a cool reception to the idea.

Negan grinned mischievously, allured by her wit as he approached the couch to linger beside her impassioned form. "You thinking it'll play out that easily? Could always put ya on the fence, but I'd really, really rather avoid that."

"Oh, so you care."

"Darlin', I care that you have a shit load of potential right here, then being strapped to a damned chain fence crawling with shit or starving out in a cell block."

Michonne side-eyed him, lingering on a detail she was missing. "What potential? The hell are you talking about?"

"Ohh, you'll see. Besides, I would very much enjoy having you work under me."

She sighed shakily from the continual goading, tempted to toss her hands in the air like a child in the midst of a tantrum and leave this godforsaken room and therefore the infuriating conversation.

"'Course I'll give you a little time to mull it over. Now, I know what you're thinking. But you'd be surprised how soon we'll be copulating like jackrabbits before you're even realizing it's happenin'." Negan purred with a sip of his scotch, peering over the ridge of the glass.

Michonne had reached her limit! Her growing intolerance had manifested itself as she slammed her hands down onto the gleamed, leather couch and rose to her feet. "Are we done? I'd like to get back to my cell and _consider things." _She scorned and rushed across the room to the door.

Clasping the doorknob as though wanting to crush it, she didn't wait for a response but felt eyes on her back and faint laughter following her out as she stormed into the hall taking two steps at a time, cursing profanities under her breath.

.

* * *

.

Hours later, transported to another confined space, Michonne was inserted between two men sitting either side of her in the back seat of the SUV. Undoubtedly to prevent a venturesome escape of flinging the door open, diving out of a moving vehicle and fleeing into the woods. Inside, she laughed resentfully. That is until desperation found herself contemplating it. Michonne played out the events in her head, but saw her plan going awry. She was largely outnumbered, defenseless and out in the middle of nowhere, it wouldn't be long before she was captured. Lifting her sunken head for the first time since leaving the Sanctuary, she instantly caught Negan's penetrating eyes staring avidly at her through the rear-view mirror, as though perfectly perceptive to her thoughts. Michonne neither squirmed nor flinched away from his gaze and glared back in challenge. In return, a playful smirk flashed her way before relaying focus back to the gravel road as they drove. A thin rain drummed on the roof and right now, she wished she could melt away into it.

When the two vehicles pulled up to a stop, it was difficult to believe there was nothing short of a motherload waiting inside. The last time she scoped out a place like this was with Rick, trapped in a flooded basement. It was like she was revisiting a moment of the past and Negan was tainting it. _Why the hell was she out here in the first place?_ Through the window and past the sheet of rain, Michonne peered up at the food bank. The once inviting, ivory building appeared to have more than one floor, an east wing and far left of the roof was charred badly. The front sign clung onto its last remaining hinges, clanging against the outside wall with every gust of wind and a wooden barricade of spikes encircled the perimeter.

Negan exited the SUV, tearing her absorption as he rammed the door shut. As she and the others followed and stood among the second group, her fight or flight instinct kicked like a persistent bitch, but she elected to ignore it. The outside neither held any comfort. The pleasant, calming sounds she'd soaked in just days ago had vanished, clouds hovered over them like an omen, leaving her feeling oddly abandoned.

"Alright! Let's get on it! Grab everything they got like you were dry on Christmas." Negan proclaimed as he scanned around him, whistling merrily when a walker, then two, turned his way. "Ohh, ya'll gotta watch this shit."

Indeed Michonne watched silently as he struck them down blow for blow and tumbled to the ground beside him. A number of Saviours took posts outside for security measures during their raid, but she was otherwise reluctant to enter the building. She sensed something -

"_Move_." A voice gruffed over her shoulder and skimmed the shell of her ear when she lingered too long that he propelled her forward.

She glowered as she caught her feet and pivoted on the spot with a whip of her dreadlocks, crowding the man. "_Don't_." She rumbled as low as thunder, not in the mood for any of this. With a loud puff of air and roll of her shoulders, Michonne headed inside, climbing over the barricade and sidestepping piles of broken glass as a musty, dry odour invaded her sinuses.

Inside was just as decrepit. Overgrowth climbed the walls along fragments of moulded plaster and cracked paint, the main shopping area and side rooms were packed with stock shelves of pantry goods and shafts of light peeked through the boarded up windows as though repelling light itself. Michonne grew puzzled as to how the building hadn't been stripped bare. Looking at their grim surroundings, the samurai stepped further inside, kicking up dirt and dust as she did and discovered a cluttered array of bundled blankets, pillows, smashed lanterns, discarded wrappers and even comic books scattered about the wide space. People had been dwelling here. Reminded of how she once traveled from place to place by her lonesome, until Andrea.. she gnawed at the possibility that the Saviours had gotten to them. Was that how they "_found"_ it?

A tall man with curled locks stepped forward and crouched beside her to shove three comic books into his worn rucksack. She oversaw curiously.

"It's for a kid." He flashed a grimey look with a taut voice, rising back to his feet as he zipped up. "Lost his old man at the outpost."

She faltered as the Saviour stomped away, gripping the bag tightly. Her features softened and there was a tight constriction in her chest that she had to look away. _Everybody had lost someone that night._ Sighing tiredly, Michonne was averse to it, but she began assisting in swiping what they could. They searched the kitchen, the sorting area, and a small storage warehouse located further down the wing, past a narrow doorway.

_Creak!_

Her head suddenly snapped up above her. According to the informant, the dead were roaming the second level. Scouting the building earlier for clearance, they found both of the stairwells blocked off. Seemingly parts of the floor had collapsed, bodies long past decomposed trapped under rubble. She had dolefully noticed their weathered uniforms.

Vigilantly pausing in the doorframe to the pantry, Michonne observed Negan disappearing out of sight amongst the aisles. She stared darkly to her right at the boarded window that had been shattered, training on the large jagged shards strewn on the floor below. They glinted temptingly. Before she considered reaching out her hand -

"Where do you think you're going?"

Michonne spun and almost collided with a man behind her that she immediately reared back. Alarm bells blared in her head when he eyeballed her like a meal. "Nowhere." She barely grumbled and stalked off into the connecting hallway.

Out of nowhere, he pursued and snatched a hold of her elbow possessively. "Hold up.."

In reflex, she yanked out of his rough grip and made to move past him to avoid any further inappropriate "formalities" but he obstructed her path, lips pursed and sage green eyes sinking downwards. It roused a disconcerting shudder as she tensed.

Michonne tried to curve aside again but the Saviour blocked her way once more and attempted to cage his prey between the interconnecting walls as he edged closer. Needlessly close, she witnessed his pupils dilate as soon as she opened her mouth.

"Step. Back." An emphasis on her words and final warning for his foul intentions, the warrior was ready to tear into him baring her teeth if she had to.

But by some unanticipated turn of events, the young man collapsed to the hardwood floor with a crash as Lucille's untampered end slipped between his legs and knocked him off his feet with one forceful swipe.

Releasing a painful groan, he landed awkwardly with a _crunch_ of his tailbone and whipped round to meet the baseball bat decoratively dressed in barbed wire trained down on him, along with something much worse. Negan.

"Woah! Don't take much to knock you on your ass, boy. You sure don't want anybody to know that. You look like you've been rode hard and put up soaked! Now I better not be seeing what I think I'm fucking seeing or there's gonna be a helluva lot of shit to pay. I'd compliment the size of your balls since I was on the _goddamn_ _premises_, but sick freaks like you don't get shit from me. That is _not_ what we do. You understand?" Negan leaned in slowly, incensed as his face burned with a rage that had Michonne holding her breath at the scene.

"Yes, Sir.." He answered meekly, frozen in place with fear and jolting pain.

"Good. You have somewhere to be. So I suggest hauling your ass before I break the fucking rest of you." Negan uttered dangerously, yanking the man up by his arm before he scurried away down the hall, leaving the two of them.

"What are you doing?" She reproved in a heartbeat.

"Can't have fucks like that be an image of our guys. We ain't fucking savages…"

"Yeah, you're very civilized." Michonne snipped with heavy sarcasm.

Scoffing, Negan watched as her plump walnut lips twisted with her snide remark and dainty fingers thrummed against her skin impatiently. "Look, we do what we have to, but we sure as hell ain't monsters. Now, I know that blue balls your 'moral code' - "

"God. Don't bother - "

"And I just spared you from making a _big_ decision right there. You and I know you were goin' for his jugular - Though I'd be talking outta my ass if I said I wasn't curious to see that - " An amused rumble quivered in the back of his throat.

"Enough. I didn't ask for your help!"

"Oh, I heard ya! But better fucking _gold idea_," Negan fired back, clicking his tongue loudly. "You let me handle my own, as you handled yours."

"Well, you seem to do a good job of that." She grimaced, shaking her head heatedly as she stepped away. "I didn't ask to be out here either!"

"No." He started with a chilling air of calm. "But you high-tailed on up here of your own animosity. And now, you're here, where I am _everywhere_. The sooner you realize that, the sooner things will take a turn for you. Though I got a feelin' you're afraid you'll come around and find all this ain't as messed up as you wanted it to be."

Michonne scoffed as her shoulders tensed. _I'll be dead first._ "You're wasting your time."

The air was so brittle it could snap. As their eyes linked, she tried to decipher what Negan was thinking but his impenetrable stare and inscrutable countenance betrayed nothing. Glossed, like a veil. With heavy treads of his boots, he moved silently past her and paced down the hallway, slipping into the shadows.

With a roll of her eyes, she pushed the encounter to the back of her mind and continued passing supplies to be loaded into the black truck that lurked ominously outside. As time passed working in haste, stacking crate boxes and filling rucksacks, she sneered as she wished there was a way of smuggling some of this back home to everyone.

Turning into one of the adjacent rooms, she stopped dead in her tracks. The same man who had harassed her only moments ago laid sprawled out on his front on the floor, drenched in a pool of thick scarlet that spilled in rivers between the cracks of the boards! A look of horror cemented his pale face. Michonne's eyes bulged with a sharp exhale through her nostrils. She knew exactly what she was looking at. In spite, she yielded another morbid glance at the body, drawing in to the gaping wound at the hollow of his neck, teared, open and raw, another infliction in the crown of his head. The metallic tang permeating her senses was almost overpowering when at that moment, there was a crackle of static in the distance. Against her better judgement, Michonne reeled and followed the alerted sound to find Negan in the pantry again, pulling a radio from his belt. She eyed him attentively.

"_Negan! Got a Red situation above you! Clear out of there!" _

The second the warning passed their lips, there was a familiar splitting noise from above. Sharp, cracking sounds. Michonne's blood curdled as the ceiling suddenly caved under the weight! A slight tremor beneath their feet at the sheer force of countless bodies and splintered wood crashing down upon them! Were they all from the upper east wing?!

"Holy shit!" Negan yelled, backing up quickly. _When it rained, it poured with motherfucking corpses! "_Now's a time for crawlin' out of your assholes, boys!"

Standing their ground, sparks of gunfire flashed in the dimly lit room and chaotic mess of unloaded bullets and sprayed flesh! Racks tumbled over amidst the havoc, sending remaining cans and boxes skittering across the floor as walkers piled like pungent, writhing mounds.

Still without her own weapon and barely able to stance the attack, Michonne's heart sparked to life and pounded so fast she felt it would burst. Her initial shock dragged asunder, she pelted and shoved another rack over with all of her might to block their way. Bolting through the aisle, she dodged the mass of clawing hands that sprung through the gaps as one hobbling corpse steered around the corner towards her. She only had seconds. With the strength she could muster, Michonne gripped the solid frame and pulled her body up, elevating off the ground. With a powerful swing, the sole of her boot sent the grotesque figure plummeting to the floor! Almost stumbling, she darted out of the swarming room as starved growls nipped closely at her ears.

Running hurriedly into the hallway, the pounding surge of adrenaline kept her legs moving. Michonne needed something, anything she could use if she was to survive this. Michonne skidded to a halt as the horde had circled round the connecting halls. Guards that heard the commotion from outside lured a number into the open against the spiked barricade, but the forces converged on her position had her outnumbered.

Suddenly something heavy was tossed from behind at her feet with a piercing ring. She swerved round. _A broken pipe? _

"Figured you could use a hand there, doll!"

No time to question his intentions, Michonne scooped up the acquired weapon and fought off those that prowled too close before following Negan in retreat down the last, empty hall! Simultaneously, the pair engaged the undead that continued to close in, inching them further and further away from the distant gunshots.

The walkers inexorably pushed them back until they entered the storage warehouse, manoeuvring past the metal frames, wooden pallets and various abandoned equipment. Michonne took a breath and steadied her resolve. Right now, she craved her sword and the situation provided opportunity, but the chances of surviving this on her own.. _Just this once. This one time. _

"We'll live longer with two of us." She croaked in a serious tone.

Meanwhile Negan's husky laughter echoed off the walls and he grinned almost manically, like he couldn't have been more alive. "You got me on those odds, dreads! Common enemy, common goal, huh?!" He intoned as he firmly wielded Lucille and swung down with a growl on another, then another.

"_Won't_ be a habit." Michonne snarled over the ravenous hunger of their common foe, adamant to shut down any influencing ideas over their temporary alliance. Swift and with flourish, she almost felt the phantom sensation of her sword at her fingertips as she jammed and swiped the razor-edged pipe.

Negan blew a breath. "Come on, you _sorry_ sacks of shit!"

.

* * *

.

She was greeted by vivid light that the edge of her vision blurred with scattered spots and her eyes almost rolled back into their sockets.

Blocking out the mixed voices, Michonne stood idly as a man hissing in pain was eased across the leather seats of the SUV. Her and Negan had emerged from the congealed mass of bodies about the warehouse, breath stolen from their lungs and steeped in blood. The stifling air had reeked of death that she was ever grateful to be outside again. Grateful to be alive. Recognizing the injured Saviour as the one that stashed the comic books, the look he'd given caught behind her eyelids, as the splitting sensation in her chest returned. He had gashed his leg against fractured metal during the attack and was in dire need of stitches, the thought of him bleeding out before making it back somehow bothering her. Perhaps something akin to guilt. Potentially another parent taken away from a child… or perhaps she was simply tired of watching people die and seeing the suffering it caused around them. Michonne knew she would never truly numb to loss, no matter how frequent it came to be. Never granted that kindness. The grim world of the dead was something they all continued to have in common, reminding them how human and fragile they really were under their masks. She watched with a disconcerting frown. The last thing she needed to feel was sympathy for these people..

Resonant with earlier gunfire, the gentle pitter-patter of rainfall was distinctly pleasant. Michonne craned her neck invitingly to the light shower that streamed in beads down her weary face and trickled from her chin, absolutely _dying_ for a warm, comforting soak. God, she easily missed the luxury of bubble baths, sinking low into a warm liquid blanket that caressed her aching limbs and inhaling sweet aromas. In a rare moment of tranquility, her hands glided across her damp skin, wiping away the worst of the excess. A rustle came from beside her that she flicked her dripping lashes to find the darkly clad figure with the sticky coated bat perched over his broad shoulder. They stood too close for comfort that Michonne noticed the brown hazel of Negan's eyes, damp hair and tiny droplets falling from his silver ashen beard when he turned to regard her serenely. She looked away sullenly and folded her arms upon being disturbed, before a silent exchange passed between them, saving her pride and him the satisfaction.

But a knowing, fiendish smile tempted Negan's lips in parting as he walked away with lengthy strides, whistling to alert everyone's able attention. Slamming on the side of the truck, he signalled they were ready to head out.

"Good work out here! Let's get this back and unloaded. Shit, after that, I'm hoping to do a bit of unloading myself!" He chortled with a dramatic lean.

Michonne gazed on, unable to shake an intricate feeling of apprehension crawling down her spine. Like she'd set a single step towards some unknown abyss and now felt a pull at her feet. With quiet concern, she hauled up and slumped inside the truck, rubbing the lines of her forehead. Heaving a huge sigh, she let out all that had transpired, wrought with emotion and wanting nothing more than to wash and sleep. Far too much _excitement_ for one day.

"Report to Simon. Whatever wisecracks he sends your way, he'll be heading to Hilltop real soon." Negan addressed his men with a mordant smirk.

Observing through the tinted screen, she could practically feel his temerity radiating as he approached the armoured truck and climbed in alongside. Michonne propped her head and closed her lids, but her mind bode too restless to succumb to the pull of slumber. Back on the road, just for a single moment, the purrs of the engine and drizzle tapping against the shell of her ear soothed her tense features and lolled her somewhere else entirely.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Ohh, the sleep lost while writing this chapter and still not entirely sure if I like it or not, haha. Things are certainly happening here though, and as always the reviews and support mean the world. I hope you enjoy it, guys! ~ Disclaimer. I don't own anything in this fic!


	3. Roll Call To Morning

.

**Chapter 3: Roll Call To Morning**

.

All the noise clammed to a still. He failed to recall the nightmare that twisted his dream as it had dispersed like a burdening mist and left pressured against his skull.

Sprawled across khaki seats with his heart lodged in his throat, Rick slowly raised his head, grimacing from the stiffened strain of his neck. Bright light streamed through the thin layer of curtain, projecting its… unique patterns variously around him while his vision adjusted through the startled wake. The old furnishings of scarlet oak cabinets, tables, worktops and warm decorative colours - indeed there was something renowned of its homeliness, but served as a grim reminder of the life he'd once grown accustomed to. Early days once spent with his wife and Carl.

Slipping an enervated groan, he dragged to a seated position and bedded his head in his hands. The tender, assuring presence that had been missing for days was beginning to show.. especially during those harrowing nights. As fingers dragged down his face, Rick padded across the laminate, through the kitchenette area and halted in the doorframe of a closeted bathroom, to which he mistakenly caught glimpse of the reflected image.

As expected, the sheriff's turbulence had not been kind to him. Blood vessels split like influents and covered the surface of his laden eyes, dark crooks appeared under his lids and his shoulders noticeably slumped. He wondered how long ago it was that he rested properly. When he'd started feeling something terrible would happen the moment he closed his eyes.

Practically tearing himself away and lunging the last steps, Rick climbed out of the recreational vehicle and sank into the underbrush that rose to his ankles. A breeze stirred the high branches above, carrying the silvery sound of rustling leaves. He took a breath. _As peaceful as it gets._ Further listening to the hum of the woods and chirping insects while basking in the sun, on another occasion, he wished he'd made the care of taking Michonne someplace like this. Just the two of them. Away from… everything. He hoped he still had the opportunity as his fingers brushed the radio transceiver stationed in his belt. Since Negan last contacted, Rick had remained alert and apprehensive for the tiniest sound transmitted over. Perhaps he was bedevilled for nothing and Michonne was handling her situation.. Regardless, the longer they stayed out here, time did not stop in _there_, and there was no greater terror than being powerless when someone's life was so easily extinguished like a candle flame. Rick knew all too well.

Thoughts travelling ahead, he peered cautiously at his verdant surroundings as vaporised drops blew down the nape of his neck. Shaking off the sudden chill, a crunch of twigs revealed the mousy brown hair of his companion approaching from the thicket.

"Thought you could use the extra hours." The reserved man uttered, stopping a small distance away. "Area's clear."

Rick stared through him with glossed eyes and nodded. "Thank you." He muttered and shifted antsyly on the spot. At least there was a filled space that would otherwise be torment all alone.

Split into separate groups, he and Aaron headed north whilst Father Gabriel and Spencer scoured in the opposite direction. Given the nature of their outing, they attempted to eschew from the main roads as much as possible, if anything to avoid colliding with the Saviours on one of their routes. Or anyone else incidentally.

Meanwhile, caught on the tip of his tongue sensing Rick's turmoil, Aaron bared resemblance to a child wringing their hands. "I know I haven't known your people for very long... but Michonne always struck me as someone that could handle themselves through anything. I'm not really sure about much anymore, but I'm sure she's alright. Can't let them hang loved ones over our heads."

Even when part of him surrendered to Negan's will, Michonne refused to. She was unyielding. However, she'd grown a little distant and aggravation seeped from her pores. Evenings where she crept in late and slipped under the covers, laying on her side with her back turned away. Their deaths had undoubtedly weighed on her as much as they continued to do so on himself. While her conducted move was irrational to say the least and there's surely consequences heading their way, even then, there was still something to admire about all of it.

"Yeah… she's somethin'." Rick agreed and twitched a forced smile that disappeared as soon as it had appeared. "Risking all this to provide for them, it's gotta be the way things work now. I don't blame you if you don't agree with that. Michonne didn't call it living, and I can't fault that either. Thing is, nobody's asking us to live, but to _survive_."

"Back then, they had us cornered. I don't see how there was any other way."

Suddenly an older, wiser voice sounded in Rick's mind. _You always have a choice! A way out_. But what about the times when they truly didn't? And those of your best interests couldn't understand it? "I tried talking Michonne out of it before."

"What did she say?"

Rick gave a throaty groan, gliding a hand along his scruff. "Said she needed to figure things out."

"I mean, I get it. It was as all different once, how we lived. What we're committing to now keeps a lot of people breathing, but for how long-standing it'll be, not something I like thinking about." He lowered his troubled gaze and turned to press on, thick beds of brittle leaves snapping under his soles.

"...Would you do it? Fight for it, after everything, knowing the odds? Knowing this keeps your family safe?"

Aaron sighed, reluctant in his response. "I think we gotta make ways for us to live, whatever the means. For the people around us. You said yourself, right? Always gonna be people to fight."

Rick grew silent. Whether or not Aaron agreed it was the right call, even _he_, the kind stranger who had first offered them water on the road and later welcomed them into Alexandria had noticeably hardened. He saw it all around him. He supposed everyone had to, following what happened in the clearing. It seemed like the world stopped breathing that night.

"Think we should head to the Colony? Call in on Sasha… and Maggie?"

Broke from his thoughts, Rick visibly tensed at the concern across Aaron's face as he suddenly felt as though his curled locks clung dankly to his skin. Perhaps it was cowardly, but something prevented him from setting foot inside the Hilltop, to confront the immeasurable feeling of hopelessness that ensnared him everytime Maggie and Sasha's shared distraught flashed in his mind. Not yet. At this time, both of the girls were in good care, away from the worst of it. Rick flicked his attention away and passed the man without a word.

Eventually, the pair opted to take the trails that branched out in a brisk walk of lush green. Spotting an abandoned pickup truck trying to disguise itself amongst the overgrown foliage, a damp smell hit their nostrils as they eased closer. A lake. The radiant sun hitting the water appeared like a jewel dazzling from facets. It had _almost_ looked inviting. Examining closer through a thin white vapour, a suspicious houseboat stood adrift and guarded by cadavers roaming and dragging their putrescent bodies aimlessly through water. Supposedly this was where the supplies were stashed. Stood at the edge of the bank, Aaron spotted a canoe floating across the surface in the distance.

"We could probably make it over there. A place protected like this has gotta be worth the risk, right?" He addressed staunchly.

"Well, we can't afford not to." Rick scrunched his tightened features, the worn lines reflecting his years. "We use this to get to the canoe, but we gotta work fast, doesn't look like it'll hold us above water for long. Worst comes, we'll have no choice but to swim."

Surveying the scene, Rick peered down at the tied off, old boat that gently rocked back and forth on the ripples. It was inevitable to take on water the moment they pushed away from the verge. And as expected, the lake crept in through every crevice and sank the boat deeper towards its depths as walkers came closer to crawling inside. Almost losing his radio and only contact to Michonne, Rick scrambled and stabbed the sharp wooden sign through each of their sallow faces. Hazy anxiousness welled up inside when Aaron was suddenly dragged under the infested waters in the blink of an eye as Rick tumbled inside the canoe. A haunting silence filled the area as he called out, each louder than the last as he waited... The sense of dread smothering. _Not another one. Please, dammit not another one! Not now! How many more of his people did he have to lose?_

Until finally, like an answered prayer, Aaron resurfaced and swam swiftly for the floating structure. Rick sputtered and paddled closely behind before they both climbed aboard and collapsed in a sodden heap beside each other, regaining the function to breathe.

When the two began rummaging through the guy's belongings, amongst the many supplies were munitions. Rick's heart jolted at the sight, but there wasn't a trace of ammo anywhere. After what they had just gone through and where all these supplies were headed, for the slimmest second, frustration almost bested him as Rick imagined lashing out at the boxes, sending items crashing to the floor chaotically. Outside however, he stilled and fought to keep composure. Thankfully, the only surprise was a vulgar note left behind by the previous owner, sardonically congratulating them on their find.

"Sure seems this guy was a piece of work.." Aaron mumbled half-humouredly and shook his head, water trickling down the frame of his cheek. "Would've only given us trouble anyway."

Message engraved in his mind, Rick huffed and tossed the crumpled ivory sheet of paper aside, landing onto the floor like a fallen petal. At least they hadn't turned up empty handed. Perhaps something would come their way soon. _Law of averages. _"Huh. Yeah, we probably would've been dead already if he was alive. Works out for us. We gotta get this load back, quick. Let's hope the others found something."

"Yeah." Aaron agreed, trailing behind.

Checking for immediate danger, they finally crossed the large houseboat to the other side of the lake. Muscles tightly sprung, Rick couldn't shake the disturbed feeling eyes were watching them from afar somewhere amidst the dense branches and needles as they carefully loaded the supply crates into the RV.

.

* * *

.

It was lost to her how long Michonne had walked. A gentle glow blanketed her face as she strolled between spindling trees, a break from the heavy humidity among the bushes as blades of grass flattened in waves in a passing sough of wind. A chirping bird flitted about in the branches. Signs of life. She relished it. In moments like these, she could forget the world had ended, that old memories in her palace had burned to cinders lifetimes ago. Fingers gliding against the vibrant greens, taking in the different textures and aromas, she steered her mind. Until the sensation at her fingertips turned chilling. A type of cold that felt oddly wet to the touch. Michonne scrunched her brow. She heard rattling.

Casting eyes down, a stretch of iron links threaded her gloved hands that smeared red, jerking and tugging. A foul mingle of smoke and charred flesh filled her sinuses instead and forced its way to the depths of her stomach while her every step fell into muddied ash. Looking around, Michonne met an eerie but familiar sight surrounded by the pallid complexions of the dead, although they paid no attention to her.

Corpses all shambled in one direction on either side, almost rounding her up into the growing herd. The irons in her grip jerked again, forcing her to face forward and watch the back of two leashed, shuffling bodies with clean cut stumps where the length of their arms should've been. The twitching carmine muscle that searched for a taste of fresh kill hung loosely from their gaping mouths. Both sets of teeth had been especially carved out along with their jaws in a mutilated mess. From an outsider's perspective, they looked as though they were leading her somewhere. _What _had_ she looked like from the outside? _

Sat in a place between wakefulness and sleep, a painful scrape of that damn door made Michonne start. Severed from her imaginings, she slowly uncurled herself from the floor. She hadn't expected to be transported back to that time. Following the devastation of the prison, their feud with the Governor, she recollected that hollow feeling in her chest when she saw herself no better than the walking dead. She had felt… hopeless. What vague light invaded the cell grew dim when a figure blocked and loomed over her. Michonne rolled her eyes with an irritable twitch of her lips.

"Mornin'!" Negan greeted, eyeing the empty, discarded water bottle beside her. No doubt knowing she tipped it back the second she got it.

It was bothersome how much interest there seemed to be, for whatever reason known only to himself. _Was it because of her role in all this? Where she stood with Rick? _She doubted he'd give her the time of day way, it was becoming clear that Michonne had to allow Negan's antics to wash over her if she was to survive however long in this god forsaken place. Adapt and carry on. She had a sinking feeling she was not leaving her current living arrangement anytime soon anyway. She grunted, pushing aside how bedraggled she must look.

"For someone who wanted me in solitary down here, you're pretty invasive." She apprised, dryly.

Like a game to be replayed over and over, Negan smirked at her attitude before jerking his head. "I wanna show you somethin'."

She stared for a moment. "Shame that I'm not interested."

"Why, you swingin' somewhere? Sure doesn't look like I'm interrupting anything. Listen, we can keep doing this round every time, but I know there ain't nothing less you wanna do than stay holed up as the days lose ya. Something tells me you're a gal to keep busy. You ask me, outta make this count." His eyes turned serpentine, biting back a wicked smile. "Come on, you can't tell me you're not curious."

Michonne sharply inhaled. He had trouble in mind. She was torn. In truth, she desired a moment of freedom from her confinement, however brief, and it would be exactly what she got out of whatever this was. She spared asking why, since he never told her shit. One of the rare, uncanny occasions where Negan was tight-lipped. _After the food bank, what more could be possibly sprung on her? _A decisive noise ripped from her throat as she rose to her feet.

"That right there? Now that's the spirit!" He twirled Lucille by his side with an obnoxious playfulness, shutting the door behind her with a loud clack of the lock.

Trailing to a stop, Michonne's contorted expression fell as she came face to face with a serious-seeming blonde, stood taut as an effigy. Lips pursed. Piercing but passionless gaze. Short, dusty hair strung up in a ponytail exposed a tattoo on her neck that contrasted her fair skin. Negan, mildly amused at the two glaring women, introduced her as Laura, supposedly one of his trusted _lieutenants_ and she caught something in his tone insinuating Michonne would likely see this woman around plenty. _Was she assigned her very own watchdog now with sidelong stares? Huh._

The winding claustrophobic halls of grey sour what little there was of her mood. A rush of activity leaked through the walls and gripped her attention as she shadowed Negan, the force of her glare burning holes into his back while he strode in easy-going purpose. She inadvertently noted how brazenly casual and confident he was. Like the world was at his feet. There was no misguided mask of a humble, charming leader on display. Rick and the group had dealt with threats in the past that feigned a certain innocence, before the image cracked and the evil presented itself. If there was _one_ thing to remotely appreciate about Negan, it was how upfront he was. There was no act. Negan was Negan.

Stood atop the landing, the man braced his arms against the metal railing while he oversaw the main factory floor that was packed with various work stations. The towering glass surrounding them illuminated and spilled planes of brightness upon tables littered with baked and jarred goods, ligneous chests topped with folded sheets, clothing and even a small table of trinkets. But all of it came to a stand-still as everybody in the room immediately sank to their knees. She dared not humour the thought of what the scene had looked like, it would have undoubtedly thrilled him. How his form exhibited such pride. A man's pride, a man's land. Taking in all he had conquered. A bitter taste rolled in her mouth at the word. _Conquered._

"Come on up here." Negan suddenly called, motioning her over.

Biting back disdain, Michonne's feet dragged as she abled up the steps and inched closer. Each placement of her feet rang softly from the thin metal. With everything so still, they grew only more distinct. Only when she was considered close enough by his side, did he turn uncurbed attention back to his people.

"As you were!" His booming voice bounced off the walls as movement returned. Easing towards her like she endowed some sort of magnetic pull, Negan failed to restrain a burst of breath. The bafflement and revulsion with what Michonne had witnessed must have been clear as day. "No need to pull a face like a smacked ass."

Michonne waved it off dismissively. _What was the purpose of bringing her to the limelight?_ Folding her arms, she took a daring step forward.

"I don't know what you think you're doing here. What is all this? If you're making a point? Make it. Because if this is an attempt to impress me, you can spare us both the trouble. I'm not."

Negan hummed darkly. "Hell, why wouldn't you be?"

"Then you really don't know shit."

"Nahh it ain't about that. I know I made a _big_ impression after your guys slaughtered my men, but right now, I'm willing to move past all that. Figured I'd show you a runnin' of this place, see how things work around here, _not_ what you hear while toasting your nuts and swapping freak-ass stories. Given how things wound up, I'd like to show you more..."

She arched a brow. "What makes you think I want that?"

His inflection lowered like a sinister secret flowed from his tongue. "'Cos I ain't buying that you're not raring to find out where the hell you are and what you started. Though I'm thinking there's still something more than that. Might not be the kind of sweet livin' your boyfriend and the rest of the peart ranching folks are used to, but maybe you'll find things that aren't so different over here."

"Funny. When you say that, it sounds as though you're trying to front an equal standing with the communities." Michonne deduced. "'Course we're not equal, are we? Not to you."

"Not everybody's capable of running things and protecting what they got. You should know that. Fact is, people lost everything, so I built a new everything."

She ignored the way that line piqued a deeper, traitorous curiosity. They say cruelness springs from weakness. _So what exactly had Negan experienced, to get here? What had been _lost? _ Besides his last shreds of humanity. _"We're not the same. If that's what you're driving at." Michonne said indifferently.

"How do you know that?" He teased with an unpleasant quirk of his lips.

Spite filled every crevice of her being. "What you see and what we see are different. How we do things. How we're _rebuilding_."

"Well, load off on me, dreads. What are you seeing?"

A crumpled copy of a half-smile crossed Michonne's features, before glancing down at his dedicated workers. The Sanctuary and its people were nothing short of an oppressive force. Observing quietly, she scanned through the sea of worn faces. The man that had injured himself suddenly crept into the small space of her subconscious. With his absence in the room, she fleetingly wondered whether he was recovering elsewhere or not. She shook it away.

"Clearer everyday… that you're a self-serving asshole."

As Negan slowly turned to lean against the railing, inclining his head slightly to one side, dark orbs gleamed interest and seemed to ponder over her answer. Michonne hadn't missed the way his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Jesus. No love lost on me, huh?" The man bit at his cheek and flicked his brows upwards.

Meanwhile, Michonne pulled a smirk that fell flat. "You expect anything else?"

"Listen, I may be an asshole, but I know a thing or two about granting people a place inside a solid fucking system. After that, leaps and bounds, this place was building itself! But you gotta keep them all in line, keep 'em from straying. There's things even I ain't willing to let slide."

"Hm. So you think spending time in your company is a good distraction of what you're doing?" She slowly shook her head and paced towards the colourless wall.

"Who said anything about distractions. I'm shooting square with you."

"That may be. But keeping me here, Negan? You might not like what happens."

"That right?" Negan flashed teeth in a charming grin, despite the transparent threat. "Well then you probably shouldn't have tried to take a shot at me. You're just hurting _yourselves, _sweetheart. But y'all can still turn it back before things go to hell in a handcart. Rick going out there and getting us our shit even though he hates my guts, that's the smart move. Nobody else has to end up like the ones that died. Makes you think, when their memories are all you got."

"Well. Sometimes memories are the worst punishment. Memories come back… but they don't." Michonne stated absentmindedly.

Anger. Grief. Despair. She seared the scene of glistening faces, desperate cries and bodies wheezing wetly in a crumpled mass upon the ground, seeping into the earth. That image. That was what encountering the Saviours had stabled for them. In a way, Negan was marked by those murders as well. No one would forget.

Meanwhile his angular frown relaxed vaguely and smiled something hollow. Strange, how curious yet again she was to know what lurched through Negan's head at that moment, as though her words held something more. Although before she could ponder any further, the presumptuous man turned to lead their small group outside. Michonne kept an exceedingly sharp eye as she trailed behind.

.

* * *

.

Their excursion later took a detour through an enclosed area of attended crops, the flush of humidity like a blast to the face. Old hutches layered in chicken wire lined along the wall. There too, men and women halted their workload to lower to the ground as Negan passed. Michonne squared her jaw. Witnessing the scene a second time, oddly made it more absurd. When they left the area, the whip of the morning wind howled and felt as though a scourge to her limbs as she peered up at the scraps of blue sky leaching through clouds. Inside, she was rather indecisive about what it was about Negan. The Sanctuary. The Saviours. She didn't fear the _man_ necessarily, more had a dawning fear of what he could do with his unpredictable callousness and position of power. Lacking careful steps, and he could very well be the wolf at their door as believed. All the more reason the leader had to be removed somehow. Like several before him, how can the source of so much anguish and hatred be settled on one person's shoulders?

Curved back around the side of the main building, Laura and the other unnamed person sidled up behind them but kept their distance. The sight slightly unnerved her, as though she was waiting for something to happen. All in the quick of a flash. A loud slam cracked in the opposing air and snapped Michonne's concentration as her eyes pinned on a smokey white truck parked in front of the entrance in the distance. A small group crowded and climbed inside. She knew better, but the words slipped out regardless.

"Where are they headed?" Michonne's brow pulled together while Negan pivoted to follow her gaze. He read her openly.

"Slow down, darlin'. You look like you're busting your pretty little head from thinking too much already! We're running on a schedule here, ain't messing with your backwater group just yet."

"I wanna talk to Rick." Her business-like tone cut through the atmosphere like glass as she stood undaunted.

Negan blinked. As though the very idea had been obvious. She supposed it was. She owed it to Rick to keep him somewhat in the loop.

"No shit." He said, with curt laughter. "'Course you do. But I gotta ask..."

"What difference does it make? I'm here, under watch. All I need is five minutes." Michonne's expression stiffened. "I'm not asking."

Something about her demeanour shot straight through and advised him to oblige. What she lacked in perspective, she certainly made up for in spunk. _Damn. Somebody was sure finding their voice today._ "Well, look at you. Already getting me wrapped around your little finger, ain't you?"

Michonne noticed the smooth cadence of Negan's voice was starting to become familiar. Something showed he opposed the idea, but seemed remarkably forbearing to it. With the dark pool of his pupils fixed on her, he unclipped the walkie from his belt and tweaked the channels before he offered it out gingerly. Just as cautious, Michonne all but snatched it from his grasp, feeling a spark flare beneath her skin as their fingers brushed momentarily.

"You got a minute." He pronounced.

Negan's only chivalrous offer of privacy included nearing the outside wall and propping his lean body against it, sheltered in shade. Clutching the device, Michonne took a deep, concentrated breath as she hesitated. Searching through the confinement of her mind of what she intended to say and with building tightness in her abdomen, she applied pressure to the button and ceased the sharp crackling.

"Rick?" Nothing. A pregnant pause. She dared not breath as she lingered on unanswered silence, afraid of shattering this perhaps one chance she had opened in front of her. "Rick."

A click sounded on the other side. She stiffened.

"Is that - Michonne, is that you?"

"Hey..." The muscles in her face finally relaxed and she smiled subconsciously at the hum of his frazzled voice. "Yeah." She replied, intensely aware of the observer listening in on the conversation.

"You alone?"

She lifted her head and exhaled a deflated sigh. "No. And I don't have long."

At that moment, Rick released an expiration that felt as though he'd bared for days and she picked up something incoherent mumbled under his breath. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Michonne assured as convincingly as possible. She withheld mentioning her involvement in the run or going outside at all days earlier. It would do no good and serve nothing. She didn't want him distressed on tenterhooks than he already was, leading to him doing something rash. _Like she had_, she snorted bitterly. God, she already missed their faces. "How's everybody doing?"

"Good.. They're good. They're safe. Listen Michonne, I know we've had our differences, we've had rough calls before, but in all this… there ain't a moment where I'm not proud of you, proud of us..."

An ache in her chest throbbed at the slight tremor in his tone. Her bottom lip barely quivered and tears threatened to well in the corners of her stinging eyes. Feeling twisted frustration and disappointment back home, suddenly struck her with guilt and Michonne sensed a buried rage Rick felt with her decision that stuck her here, but shoved it aside. She also got the impression he was trying to word carefully. Michonne strengthened her grip, as though strengthening her grip on him.

"I want you to know that. We'll get through this. We'll get back home…" His tone shifted. "And you tell that son of a - "

"Woah! And that's time!" Negan interrupted and swept in. "Raw deal, but gotta keep things short and sweet since I'd sure hate for somebody to start losing fingers for running their hole like that. See you at the gates, _wiseass_ \- "

The sword woman's head throbbed and swam as she slowly relinquished hold of the damned thing.

"Michonne comes with you. I wanna see how _safe_ she is." Rick spoke tightly, lips directly to the transceiver.

At that, Negan paused with a coarse scoff, attention darting over to her as she tried to decipher what he was thinking through straining that veneer of a smirk. "Sure, Rick. You'll see 'er. I'm a man of my word, and for what I got in mind, I think things will go a helluva lot smoother if the both of you show up." He cut off the connection instantly.

Michonne did not like how ominous that sounded, nor how impuissant the two of them were made to feel. Acid rose in her gullet. She would not let it dash her hopes of seeing Rick and the others again.

"Sounded like he had a stick up his ass." Negan remarked flippantly, the link to home receding back into the wide of his belt.

For the untold time, her eyes would've tumbled from their sockets had she rolled them any harder. Her face fully accentuated her impatience as she swallowed down the burning questions that would undoubtedly fall on deaf ears.

"Man, I could fucking champ on a horse right now! What do you say we take this inside, dreads? After all, who the hell would I be if I didn't offer?"

_With a company of two, no less._ Flaring her nostrils, she pushed past the swirly pain and nausea from her stomach devouring her insides like a ravenous beast to her best efforts. "I'll pass."

"Really. You ain't had a scrap yet." Negan said incredulously. "I gotta say, despite what you're thinking, one sit down won't kill ya."

Ignoring his tenacious toying as her stubbornness ruled out, Michonne recalled an unmistakable twinkle of something devious stood before her eyes when he'd addressed Rick earlier. He seemed steps ahead in something, and she almost dreaded to find out what. All Rick and the others could do was play their part for now. There had to be a way for her to play her part too. That's when a recurring thought suddenly struck like a shock. Perhaps here, even more so provided a chance to learn more about their enemy. Any advantage at all. Something she could use. Who knew what slim detail could be their saving grace? But for now, she desired her safe room. To be disconnected and to shut out unfamiliar faces, voices and surroundings.

"I'm fine heading back to my cell. I'd rather not impose." Michonne forced a grim smile that dropped as though gravity claimed it for its own.

Before her mind registered, a silky noise slipped from Negan as he sought to close the distance. Michonne refrained from shrinking away when he chuckled, goosebumps raised on her skin as he leaned in, inches from her attentive ear.

"I get it. Gotta stick to your guns, sweetheart."

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE: **Do I love writing sassy Michonne? Yes. Going for a little view shift next chapter. Thank you so much for reading and for your patience. Apologies it's been a while, this chapter gave me a rough time in my motivation rut. I'm also writing more on my original works right now, so might be some delays on chapters more than others. But I've gotten some outlines done on the next two coming. Stay safe you guys ~


End file.
